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California State University, Dominguez Hills
University of Wisconsin, Parkside
Created: October 2, 2006
Latest Update: October 2, 2006
jeannecurran@habermas.org
takata@uwp.edu
Three StoriesThe Bad Man Is Coming This year I finally retired. More time to myself. I could sleep late, read more, paint more. Paradise! But then the bad man came. He snuck in the window, unannounced. Mother saw him. She was on my shoulder nagging that if I insisted upon firing the housekeeper who kept rearranging my furniture and waking me up at 9 in the morning, I would simply have to get more done. Never mind that the faucet was working right. The dishes had to be done. The bad man related to Mother at once. They understood each other. Never mind that the washing machine had broken down wildly and was threatening to jump into Arnold's Spyder, right on top of the poor cat who insisted upon sitting in the driver's seat. Never mind that Michael and Caroll were doing construction in the front yard. It was irresponsible to let the poor roses die Yes, they were both agreed. Eternal housecleaning.
Thank God I awoke. The cat, Mr. Tail, landed right on top of me. Time to cuddle.
Around the world with National Bank Arnold is a wonderful husband. Years and years ago we agreed that our ways of handling money were so different (like, I never had any) that he should just handle it alone. What a carefree life that led to. No balancing, no worrying, never having to carry money around in foreign countries. I once threw all my lire at him in Rome after having taken my daughter on a shopping trip. No figuring out exchange rates for me. Drawing, painting, photography - those made sense.
Until Capetown. We had arrived on the Blue Train to stay in a lovely hotel. I started drawing in the lobby. All I lacked for was a nice meal. The credit card did what? The bank did what? They failed to record the deposits you made before we left? Well, can't they do something about it? Well, like send you some money. Call Pat. She can't take out the money?
But that angle against the port is so interesting. Could I please have a sandwich? Where are we going to sleep? In the park? Look over there. I have to photograph that ship. And then the manager came over. It was straightened out. We wouldn't have to sleep in South Africa's parks. But we still didn't get to go to penguin island. Arnold couldn't get the manager to make the storm go away. We did get to meet some of the men who were in prison with Mandela. Whatever would I do with National Banks and hotels without Arnold.
Mr. Tail, Could You Please Let Me In? There's really so much to do. Ii have class tonight, and teaching materials to prepare for Wednesday, and a board meeting on Tuesday. And there goes the phone again. Hi, Pat. No, I didn't get to go pick up the art supplies yet. Do you think we'll have to pick up printing ink? Oh, there's the bell. What next?
Oh, a certified letter. Sure, I'll be right out. . . . Damn. The door. I forgot to push the button. I just locked myself out. No, thank you, there's really no one to call anyway. Pat's a good forty-five minutes away, and Arnold just called that he was leaving for lunch. No problem. I'll just crawl in through the window. Oops. Pat is till on the phone.
I stared for a minute or two at the cat's writing desk on his front porch. I sure hope it can hold me. Climbed up, with great pain. Mother, as always,on my shoulder: Jean Rae, you really shouldn't be doing this at seventy. It's not dignified. What would the neighbors think?
By gripping the window very very tightly, I managed to pull myself up straight in the casement window. Mr. Tail looked at me inquisitively from a safe distance next to the Crown of Thorns plant. Guess I looked like a big cat gone wacko. Gingerly, I stepped onto Mr. Tail's indoor writing desk. So far, so good. But I'll have to let go of something to get to the table. Of course, I can balance with nothing to hold on. Just a simple step to the table; well, with a jiggle and a waggle and think I better sit down fast. Last hurdle either step on the chair or jump to the floor. Jump? Well, all things being equal, I agree with W.C. Fields. I'd rather be in Pittsburgh.
At last - I'm safely back in the kitchen. The phone's ringing. Pat, wondering what I'm up to now. And here comes Mr. Tail, right behind me, asking about lunch.
